What's in the eye of the beholder,
is a story those eyes can frame.
From their pupils to the iris,
A story awaits to be named.
Those eyes are all around,
dancing with life,
stories to tell abound.
Some stories are old,
some stories are new,
but most are hesitant to be told.
Those eyes happen to be like mine,
filled with stories,
stories that will lead to my demise.
Stories that loom over me like a cloud,
forever dark and loud.
YOU ARE READING
Dead, Yet Alive
PoetryNot quite living, not quite dead. Like a puppet on a string, moving through the motions of life without a thought or semblance of emotion.
